SpicySpaceSquid

The rewrite has now made it past the first round of JNC's novel contest under the title The Deception of Claire Augustus. The second round's results will be announced at the end of May! I'm excited enough to wet my pants.

Chapter 343 - Debts and Dues VII

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Dear Diary,

Tomorrow is going to be our last day in Paunse. Master says that we’re crossing the border around noon. I thought that there was going to be an official process where we had to fill out all sorts of super complicated papers, but apparently, it isn’t really that hard. Master says we can pretty much walk across without telling anyone.

Master said that Fornestead is the land of giants. He says that the food is good and that the portions are huge. Apparently, their pies are as tall as I am and ten times as wide. I can’t wait to see them in person.

Lia

___

Knowing that it was still raining down south, and that she would likely heal by evening, Claire decided to spend the rest of the day within Valencia’s bounds. She began by visiting her usual perch. Fox, homunculus, and for some odd reason Starrgort in tow, she assumed her humanoid form, ascended the airspace above the castle, and made her way up to Augustus Manor.

Officially, she was assigned as Rubia’s guard; the replacement had been excused from her duties for the rest of the day and her usual protector was given the same message. The rare bit of leniency only raised Claire’s suspicions. Her father wasn’t the type to allow the forsaking of duties, though in Rubia’s case, one could certainly argue that it was well deserved. Unlike the original, who had struggled in all things academic, she was a model student. She sucked up knowledge like a sponge and found interest in nearly every type of material. Even Allegra had labelled her as a student worth teaching—a descriptor that Claire herself had lost during her second month of tutelage.

There were objections, of course. Durham had very audibly complained about the mandatory vacation, and he had gone on to rant about outsiders and trust. But despite all of his rambling, his arguments fell on deaf ears. Claire walked right past him without even sparing him a look.

At first glance, the manor was still largely operational, though its security wasn’t quite as strict as it had been before. Case in point, the guards stationed at the entrance quickly backed off when they saw Rubia all smiles and allowed the group to pass through unchecked. It was a circumstance that would have been unthinkable before Virillius took the throne. They would have been inspected at least, and as a weapon, even one that had quite literally never seen use, Starrgort would have been forced to stand by until Claire was ready to leave. But evidently, her father had moved his base of operations.

If the lowered security hadn’t made that clear enough already, then the lack of trainees surely would have stood in contrast. Like the secure documents that Virillius managed day to day, House Augustus’ military programs had been taken to the castle.

It was really just the house’s servants that had stayed behind. The gardeners were still maintaining the flowers and herbs that Allegra had sowed, while the butlers and maids were still working their hardest to keep the manor spick and span. Claire was tempted to think that Alice was still present at first, given that her house had been safeguarding her from her brother, but it didn’t look like it from the servants’ behaviour. There was no one to stand guard over the lady in question. The units by the gate and around the airspace were the only ones still present.

Deciding to put off any further investigation, Claire led Rubia through the courtyard and towards the floating rock’s furthest edge. There, together, they basked in the late summer wind and gazed down upon the city.

No one said a word.

Even Sylvia, who was being hugged by the fake, remained uncharacteristically silent as she gazed upon the scene, though that was nothing new. She was always quieter during their visits up north. Claire wasn’t sure why, but in either case, it made no difference. Their eyes swept across the city, the province, and the distant mountains before returning to the familiar manor. They all knew that it was her childhood home, or at least all of them except for the spider holding up a web covered in symbols of confusion.

“I missed this place.” For once, the lyrkress decided to indulge the unwanted pest. She even picked him up and gently set him in her lap. It was mostly because she just wanted something to hug, and she was in too much pain to conjure up a block of ice. “I never imagined I would. I always thought that I would’ve been too scared to come back and face my father. But it turns out, I’ve missed it dearly.”

She closed her eyes, took a breath, and inched her body forward. And then, all of a sudden, she fell through the sky.

A smile crossed her lips as the wind rushed through her hair.

It wasn’t her first time flying through the air above Valencia. But it was the first time she did with nothing left to constrain her.

Perhaps tempted by the original’s joy, Rubia soon followed suit. Still hugging Sylvia to her chest, she kicked off the edge and spun through the air, her eyes on the world beneath her.

Claire didn’t catch her until they were about to hit the ground. Spreading her wings wide, she neutralized the weight of the fall and carefully touched down on a random building. None of the locals were too surprised by the entrance. Winged centaurs made similar landings all the time, and even if it were rough, it still would have been better than a cottontail’s descent; some were occasionally knocked off the floating castle in the midst of their training. The spider was the only one that she hadn’t assisted, but he landed just as calmly with a parachute made of the usual silk.

The lyrkress briefly glanced at the fake’s face before hopping off the roof and heading into town. Rubia didn’t cling to her guard or even reach for her hand, perhaps knowing that it was inappropriate for a lady of marriageable age to do so in public, but she still stuck close enough that their fingers would occasionally make contact.

Together, they wandered the streets, randomly visiting all the shops and markets that happened to catch their eyes. They didn’t say much. In fact, Rubia said nothing, but her smile was more than enough to soothe the lyrkress’ pain.

At some point during the trip, the pair switched pets. Claire was returned her fox, while Rubia borrowed the metal spider and spoiled it in the furball’s place. Most of the day was spent wandering the town, but that wasn’t to say that it was uneventful. They visited a bathhouse, spooked the king’s chef, and escaped Durham’s capture before heading back over to the palace right as the sun began to set. Durham aside, there were no unsavoury individuals that had dared to approach. They knew better than to touch the king’s daughter with his assassins so frequently afoot. Even with a ransom negotiated, escaping unharmed remained a pipe dream.

Claire was tempted to circumvent the usual formalities and fly her way to her father’s quarters, but she changed her mind when she saw the maids gathered outside the castle’s front door. There were too many familiar faces among them to be easily dismissed, so with no other choice, she reluctantly landed in the courtyard, ignored the confused guards, and walked with Rubia until they reached the retinue.

“Welcome back, Princess,” said Beatrice. The familiar thorae bowed to the fake whilst keeping an eye on the outsider. For Claire, it turned out to be quite the interesting scenario; her own hairdresser was sizing her up like a foe. “His Majesty has asked for you to report to his personal dining hall with your guest in tow.”

Some of the other maids had certainly joined Bea in staring the real Claire down, but unlike the strict thorae, their focus was more easily divided. Their eyes wandered before long, with most settling their gazes on one of the pets. Two or three of the oddballs eyed Starrgort, while the remaining dozen focused their attention on the fluffy fox.

“Uhmmmm… Hi?” She tilted her head adorably, so adorably in fact that one of the maids nearly tripped over her dress.

Beatrice, who by all means was a far better head maid than Chloe, tapped her foot against the paved brick and shot a glare at each distracted servant in turn. She didn’t say a word, but the guilty members immediately stiffened up and returned to their previous positions.

Claire almost wanted to giggle. Nothing had changed. The bug was just as much of a stickler for the rules as she had been with Mariabelle in charge. And perhaps that was why she found herself so tempted to tease her.

“You’re being too hard on them, Bea.”

“I most certainly am not. If I’m not going to be hard on them when we have guests, then I might as well resi—” She quipped out of pure habit; the maid didn’t realize that anything was amiss until she was two full sentences into her lecture. For some odd reason, it felt like there was something wrong, like the voice hadn’t come from her lady’s position. “R-resign.” Still, being the upstanding professional that she was, she faked a cough, finished the sentence, and dismissed the oddity as a figment of her imagination.

“Maybe. But it’s not unwarranted. Sylvia is the fuzziest and most adorable fox you’ll ever find.”

“W-what the heck, knock it off! You’re making me blush!” said the furball in question.

The thoraen maid furrowed her brow and twitched her stinger. She was clearly confused. The increased word count had only made it more obvious that Rubia was not the one to have spoken; Claire’s voice was clearly muffled by her helmet’s visor. But at the same time, it was so perfectly recognizable that it could never have belonged to an imposter.

That was why she looked at Rubia. She stared intently at the homunculus, who innocently tilted her head and furthered Beatrice’s confusion.

And then, just to add fuel to the fire, Claire spoke again. While the maid was carefully observing her charge.

“Let’s go. We shouldn’t waste any more of Father’s time.”

“I… suppose not,” said the maid. “Please follow me.” She spun around and immediately started mumbling under her breath. “Should I take the rest of the day off? No, I can’t. I don’t trust the others to handle the guests. Was it because I hit my head when I fell down the stairs last night?”

Barely stifling her laughter, Claire handed Sylvia to the maid who had tripped and stepped through the castle’s halls. She had noticed it a few times before, but walking through the corridors in silence, without Rubia’s thoughts to disturb her own, she found herself pondering a bizarre curiosity. Her father had refrained from swapping out the decor despite having slain the previous king over a personal grudge. There were still paintings and statues of her great-uncle spread all around the building. Frankly, she found their presence a mystery in and of itself. She had only met the man a few times herself, but she hadn’t the impression that he was the type to gloat or immortalize his achievements.

It took twenty minutes to reach their destination even at a fairly brisk pace. They passed through a number of hidden passageways, some of them necessary, others much less; the maids exercised caution with a supposed outsider present and walked a much longer route than was otherwise required. And that, Claire suspected, was why the food was already plated by the time of their arrival.

The twelve-person table was covered from head to toe in food, and Virillius was already sitting at its head. It was an odd development. Dinner had never been a part of the lyrkress’ plan, and she knew that her father had no time to waste on such pointless and trivial affairs. He only ever ate with Rubia when guests were present. And even then, it was only an act; he assumed the guise of a family man to those who placed such values first.

Claire was not one of those people. There was no reason for her father to waste his time with a silly facade, nor any reason for him to waste hers before presenting his solution. But in either case, she remained silent and waited until the servants were dismissed. The maid that was holding Sylvia tried to take her out of the room whilst saying something or other about a dish of milk, but the salivating fox squeezed herself out of the disappointed rabbit’s grasp and darted to her pet’s side.

“Take a seat,” said Virillius, once the door was closed behind them.

Still shooting daggers out of her eyes, the caldriess retracted her helmet and walked over to one of the open chairs. She sat right next to her father whilst forcing the mechanical spider onto the opposite side. She hated it, but it was the only way to keep the fox and the homunculus out of the moose king’s reach.

“You don’t need to be so wary,” he said, with a laugh.

“Why not?” she spat, “Because you’re not going to be ordering my death today?”

“No, that will have to be next week.”

Sylvia was the only one to laugh at his joke. Claire rolled her eyes, unamused, while the other two were left confused.

Perhaps slightly disappointed by the result, Virillius brushed it off and gestured at the food. “We can talk while we eat. You will need all of your energy for the struggle to come.”

Claire frowned, but retrieved a piece of steak off the central platter regardless. It had been a long time since she had eaten Valencian beef. They had bought some of it in town while they were out during the day, but it was still raw, unlike the perfectly seared servings that had migrated to her plate.

“Simply put, my solution is for you to make yourself unmatched in close combat,” said her father.

“That’s easier said than done,” she muttered.

“Perhaps if you were to take the traditional approach.” He paused for a moment to take a bite of duck. “But it just so happens that there is a shortcut.” There was a devilish smile on the man’s face. His eyes were as bright as the moon and his lips as curved as its crescent.

“Stop being so needlessly cryptic and tell me already.”

Her father laughed. “What do you know of Vella’s servants?”

The lyrkress narrowed her eyes. “I will never accept Vella’s aid.”

“And I am not asking you to,” said Virillius. “I am asking you what you know of her servants.”

Claire sighed. It was a pointless question—there wasn’t a Cadrian child that didn’t know the answer—but seeing the firm look on her father’s face, she reluctantly regurgitated the lessons she learned.

“She has two types of servants, heroic spirits and immortal champions. The spirits are dead warriors. She claims their souls in death and takes them up to her halls, where they are honoured as heroes to be called to battle again. The immortal champions are the celestials and lesser gods that aid in carrying out her duties.”

It was a textbook answer. There was even an accompanying song to name some of the heroes, celestials, and gods, but Claire was not childish enough to sing it.

“That is correct,” said her father, “but it is also not entirely correct. Have you never stopped to wonder why it is only Vella that we worship? And why she is always depicted alone?”

Claire paused for a moment to think. She had visited the spider a number of times already, but while she had certainly seen her kidnapped heroes, none of the supposed lesser gods had appeared in the goddess’ domain. But that was also true of all the others. She didn’t know too much about Flux, Tzaarkus, or even the god of abyssal depths, but Flitzegarde had appeared by her lonesome, despite having a whole retinue of true deities at her beck and call. The feline goddess was often depicted to be working alongside or lording over her servants. The texts and art pieces flaunted by her temples and theirs had them joining hands for the betterment of others.

“They were her enemies,” said Claire.

“Correct,” said her father. He set down his utensils and looked right after. “What do you think has happened to them, knowing that they are no longer worshipped?”

“Oh, I know! I know!” said the fox. “Sh—”

An entire duck breast was thrown into the fox’s mouth before she could elaborate. She caught Virillius off guard by swallowing it without chewing, but he recovered from the brief moment and shot her a frosty glare.

“I was asking Claire.”

“Awwww…”

The lyrkress considered the options as she treated herself to another three pieces of steak. Her intuition dictated something along the lines of murder. It was the most effective way of ensuring that a fallen foe would never oppose her again. But it was unlikely. Not only was Vella too dumb to select an optimal solution, the manner in which the question was presented suggested that an alternative was chosen.

“She imprisoned them.”

“Correct again,” he said. A small smile on his lips, he drew a dagger from his waist and stabbed it into the table. “Final question. What do you think this does?”

He twisted the blade before Claire answered and filled the hall with a burst of blinding divinity. When she opened her eyes again, the caldriess found that almost everything was gone. The dinner table, Sylvia, Rubia, and her meal. All of it had suddenly vanished. Starrgort and her father were the only two still present, sitting together in the dark, empty chamber.

It took her eyes a brief moment to adjust, but she soon identified it as something of a circular gaol almost shaped like a small arena. Embedded within the walls, beneath the ten-meter ceiling, were cells lined with thick bars made of the same metal as the familiar spider, and within them, people and weapons bound with magical chains. There were no names to indicate the prisoners’ identities, but each solitary unit was marked with a two-digit number, some repeating, others not.

Her father stood up from his seat and paced over to one of the cages in question. Within it sat a redheaded elf with every part of his body restrained. Though it was difficult to see his face with his mouth bound and his eyes blindfolded, he seemed to be on the younger side. He was larger than Sylvia’s father, at least, but his tiny frame was no taller or wider than her own. More interesting were the tattoos that ran all over his body. They were the same as the ones that covered his blade. Familiar characters, like the ones used by the phantom in her dreams. She should have known the language, but she couldn’t read the words. The elf’s characters were arranged in nonsensical strings, with added accents and scribbles all over.

“They are weakened,” he said, as he inserted the dagger into the lock. “They are affected by a more powerful version of the principle that drives Vella’s trial. Your ability score total will be exactly the same, and they have further restrictions that prevent them from using their world-bending powers.”

She intuitively knew that the claim was true. She could tell from their presence. But that didn’t stop the shiver that ran its way up the length of her spine.

Even bound, the divinity they radiated was still far greater than hers.

“I will return in three days,” said her father. “You have two choices. Master his technique or die. He will be out for blood.”

He twisted the key twice.

Once to unleash the prisoner.

And then again to leave her behind.

The chains that held the captive god began to break apart. One by one, they broke and snapped, unsealing the warrior within.

Starrgort changed as the process neared its halfway point. He scuttled towards her, and closing his eyes, assumed the shape of the jagged sword that lay at the chained elf’s feet.

She drew her weapon.

As her opponent drew his.

Log Entry 850216
You have received a quest - Vella’s Call (1)

Primary Objective: Survive the shadow of Victor Redleaf, God of Riven Blades for 72 hours.

Reward:
- 25000 points of divinity
- A 1% modifier to all ability scores applied after all other calculations.

There was no time to breathe.

He was already upon her.