Braster Sallow plucked the fountain pen from his forehead and staunched the bleeding. No one other than his wife knew the circumstances of his inconvenient curse. For better or worse, it activated around once a week in attempt to kill or embarrass him. The severity grew the longer the intervals became, which was why Braster often forcibly set the wheels in motion to avoid something fatal.
A fountain pen to the forehead was puppies and kittens compared to the first time the curse activated.
Throwing away the ruined pen along with that unwelcome thought, Braster returned to business.
The office here wasn't as spacious as the one back home, but it served its purposes. Considering that the Sallows had been compelled to reside here for an entire year, Braster made efforts to make the room more comfortable. Such as the removal of all the sharp objects. The pen notwithstanding.
The Duke struggled to stay as organized as possible, but it became too much in between his meetings with King and Council.
Oslo was the one who managed any missives from back home and often took up roles organizing whatever Braster couldn't handle. Trisha spent most of her time out rubbing shoulders with other nobles. It took a lot of willpower to attend so many meaningless tea parties. It was a service the Duchess performed in order to stay informed. And it wasn't like they were all dreadful. There were a few in her personal circle that she got along with swimmingly.
With the pregnancy, Trisha would have to host more gatherings at the mansion instead of going out. Braster wanted to get her home and away from this accursed capital filled with danger.
The politics of the capital will only grow more hazardous the longer we reside here.
It was much more unstable than it appeared. Skirmishes were creating turmoil along the southern desert borders, and the winter savages raiding his own northern territories were a monstrous headache. The Knight Commander, supported by Braster's own father, remained in charge the Winterland. Even with things left in good hands, Braster longed to return.
Braster sighed and unclenched his fist. Releasing the crumpled document, he took the required time to smooth it out.
*Knock-knock-knock*
"Come in."
Braster was expecting Oslo to return by now with more papers to sign. However, to his delight surprise, it was his son!
Braster felt the corners of his mouth leveling.
"Are you busy?"
"Not at all. The staff seems much more comfortable around you. Well done."
Trisha was acting as a second head on his shoulder, boasting about how outgoing and proactive Bellavarn has been lately. A proud mother makes a proud father.
"Ah, it was about time I stopped hiding. I think I'm able to remember everyone's names now. But I actually came on business."
Braster was intrigued. This was a first.
"Do we employ any blacksmiths or crafters?"
"Not in the capital. The Astor House holds a monopoly on all blacksmiths near the Palace. Most of our smiths remain in Winterland producing cold iron blades. I can open up a communication and expedite the travel time depending on the order you have."
Bellavarn handed a drawing board over to Braster. He accepted it and looked it over while his son elaborated.
"This is a preliminary design for a new magic tool. I've reached the end of the theoretical phase and need to experiment to progress further. I was hoping to work directly with the smith since the specifications are so delicate."
The attached drawing papers were actually detailed schematics. They were shaded illustrations complete with measurements. Each of the papers displayed different views and function of an odd, rounded, three-pronged object.
"And what does this do?"
Braster caught his son smirking proudly.
"If I can get some prototypes and etch the magic circles correctly… It is a device that spins."
"It spins?"
Braster raised an eyebrow. Starting simple was good, but the cost would outweigh the benefits. Magical tools are four times as expensive as normal alternatives. Despite his skepticism, Bellavarn's enthusiasm didn't wane.
"It is a handheld toy enchanted to accept mana from a recipient. In return, it spins. It is simple. Too simple. I don't know why no one ever thought of it."
"Son."
"Ah, sorry. The problem it solves, one of many, is Magic Capacity. You know that different individuals are born with different capacities. Nobles usually have more due to a compounding, yet diverse lineage, while commoners are lucky to have any at all. But what if there was a reliable way to grow that magical pool? Someone can gain muscle by exercising, so it must be true that magical capacity can be increased if its properly excercised. This tool is reusable, programmed with a very simple function.."
Braster's eyebrows came together, and then slowly rose as the implications mounted.
As simple as it is, it is effective. Was something like this possible?
Such a tool would give common people a fighting chance, while providing a safer way for nobles to grow.
As if that wasn't enough, Bellavarn continued.
"That's not all. I have three variations in mind. The one on the first page will be sold as a children's toy. Fidget spinners, pinwheels, cradle mobiles… It can help develop any latent talents that may be lurking inside children as young as a week old."
For his family… For his future sibling, he'd go this far?
"I've set safeguards to prevent it from taking any harmful amounts of mana. There's a hard safety lock on these versions. The second version, on the second page…"
Braster flipped the pages and noted the subtle differences.
"…is the standard option that may be sold to any adult who wishes to train their magic, and can be mass distributed to our military as a cheap training alternative. The removal of the safeguard allows for more strenuous exercises. They can eventually be adapted as boomerangs, saws for sawmills, or even rotational mechanisms for trebuchets. "
"This… is… ambitious."
"That's not even the best part yet."
Braster turned to the last few pages. Marked as classified and "handle with care," the simplified illustrations depicted what could only be described as…
"A weapon."
"Imagine! A normal tool distributed to the masses and even to children, no one would expect a harmless and expensive training instrument to have the potential for changing weaponized warfare. At the most basic level, the frequency can be increased to emit a minuscule, magical edge as it spins. It becomes a throwing star."
"People will find out the potential to weaponize it if we start using it as such."
"I plan to keep it a Sallow exclusive item. I'll give one to Kerv and Henry during the testing phase. And I'll enchant them myself to prevent any spies from stealing family secrets."
Braster finally put down the schematics. When did his son learn enchanting?
"Even if someone steals one, they won't be able to use it without my spell signature. The advanced version can't be reverse-engineered either. Someone would have to start from scratch."
Bellavarn sucked in a breath before finishing.
"In the meantime, we mass-produce the toy versions at low cost and rake in the necessary cash flow to continue and upscale. Then as spies and our competitors are busy trying to steal a children's toy… we work in secret to develop our new standardised weaponry."
Braster had to lean back. Bellavarn outdid himself. Hell, he just outdid Braster, Braster's father, and every Sallow before him. He scrutinized his rightfully smug son.
"How long have you been cooking this up?"
"About two weeks after Melody left. It took this long to do my research and fact-checking. It still isn't feasible without testing materials and energy costs."
"In just over a month, you came up with an idea that will change the entire world while also increasing the Esteem of our house?"
Bellavarn shuffled his feet.
"Well. Yeah."
Braster stood, slammed his hand on the table, and smiled using all his teeth.
"My God, I've never been more proud of you. What do you need to get started? You'll have whatever you need, just send me an invoice and ask Oslo to handle the rest."
Bellavarn reddened and scratched the back of his head; his hair had grown in the past month, swaying past his ears.
"I was hoping you knew someone nearby who could help with production. I don't want to wait to get home to start this."
"Oslo has a list. I can provide you with funds to commission some framework. I don't expect us to stay in the Capital longer than a month. I will petition the King himself if it drags on longer. Then we can continue this project back home."
Braster laughed openly and hugged his son.
Bellavarn grinned from ear-to-ear, happier than he's ever been.
"Is that laughter I hear? From my husband of all people?"
Trisha appeared in the doorway. Her long blond hair waved along with an icy blue dress. Lurking behind her was Parcy.
"What were you discussing that made Braster laugh aloud? I haven't made him laugh like that since- since, well, I can't remember."
Braster chuckled lightly and shook his son's shoulders.
"Our son is a genius!"
"Dad."
Bellavarn drew out the word like he was a child all over again. Trisha smiled at her son changing color.
"I've always known that. I don't know what took you so long, Braster."
Braster initiated wordless communication again, leaving Bellavarn to simmer. When he couldn't take it anymore, he spoke.
"What brings you here, mother?"
"You call Braster dad, but don't call me mom? How about mommy? Like you used to."
Bellavarn shivered something fierce.
"Mother."
The Duchess sighed dramatically.
"So be it. I was actually searching for you, Bellavarn. I heard a rumor that you wouldn't mind me setting a few meetings for you? Did I hear that right?"
Her mother's voice was playful and dangerous. Her smile was false, a masquerade meant to hide cruel and evil intentions. Witch! Trickster! Demon! No. Bellavarn had to run. Oh, but his mother blocked the only escape route and Parcy was playing goalie.
Bellavarn took a step back, hitting the desk and knocking over a scroll. Braster looked at the situation and decided to retreat, lest he become a needless casualty.
"I'll leave you two to catch up, then."
Braster coughed awkwardly and slipped past his wife, making a hasty withdrawal. Bellavarn gulped. His father was just preaching his genius, and now he had abandoned him? Traitor!
"Aha. Ha. Mother. Please. It was only a jest. I swear."
He didn't like the twinkle in her eye.
"Are you sure? Parcy swears it was the truth. You don't want to meet the girls I have planned for you?"
"Ha. Hahah. No. No. I said… What? What did I say?"
Bellavarn trailed off. The memory of his exact words escaping him under pressure. He remembered the book he discussed with Parcy, but not his previous words. Looking over the Duchess's shoulder, he saw Parcy cover her mouth with a hand, preventing herself from smiling.
It was an ambush. Where was Kerv when you needed him!
Bellavarn let out a heavy sigh. Defeated.
"Haaaa. Alright. You win. You-you can set up a lunch date. Nothing more!"
The Duchess clapped her hands together and smiled toothily.
"Wonderful. I have just the person in mind. You'll have a great time! Parcy. Set aside that special tea I received from Lady Wyre. Make a note to purchase some flowers, chocolates, perfume, streamers, and-"
A whimper escaped Bellavarn's throat as he watched all his hopes being dashed.