Chapter 107: The Duchess Helena of Korka
The walk from the Mikaelson to the Guild Hall was a study in tense, awkward silence. Torak's streets were cooling in the long twilight, the sky a bruised purple streaked with the last fiery threads of the double sunset. The usual city sounds felt muffled, distant.
Freya walked a precise half-step ahead, a living blue-blooded breadcrumb trail. I followed, my mind churning. A summons from the Guild Master. This wasn't a casual chat over tea. This was the machine of the city's power structure starting to turn its gears, and I was a small, curious pebble that had gotten lodged in them.
The silence stretched. It was the kind of silence that begged to be filled with something stupid.
"So," I said, my voice too loud in the quiet lane. "Do I get a lawyer? Or is this more of a 'throw yourself on the mercy of the guild' situation?"
She didn't look back. "Your glibness is a shield so thin it's transparent. It will not serve you in that room."
"Ah, so it's that kind of meeting. The 'no glibness allowed' kind. Noted. Should I have worn my serious doublet?"
"You should have worn a sense of self-preservation," she shot back, a flicker of her old irritation showing. "This is not a game, Kaizen. A Patron is dead. A powerful, connected man. That creates ripples. You are in the ripple."
"Believe me, I've felt the splash," I muttered, thinking of Jax's fists and Silas's blade. "I'm just trying to figure out if I'm being called in as a witness or as the next ripple to be smoothed out."
Finally, she glanced over her shoulder, her profile sharp in the fading light. "That will depend entirely on what you say, and how you say it. So for once, try not to sound like a street-corner philosopher who's had one too many."
"I'll do my best impression of a respectful, moderately terrified citizen."
"See that you do."
We lapsed back into silence, but the ice was broken. The rest of the walk was punctuated by her tersely pointing out shortcuts, "This way is faster, unless you enjoy the smell of the tanner's quarter" and my deliberately missing the point…"I do enjoy a robust aroma, it builds character."
By the time the formidable block of the Guild Hall loomed ahead, its torchlit façade radiating solemn authority, the dynamic was almost familiar. Annoyed knight, sarcastic adventurer. It was a rhythm we understood, a tension that was easier to navigate than the unknown awaiting us inside.
Pushing through the heavy main doors, the warm, noisy bustle of the adventurer's common area hit us. It was a stark contrast to the quiet streets. Freya didn't pause, cutting a straight line through the crowd toward the long, polished reception counter at the far end.
My eyes went straight to her. Gwen.
Amidst the five other receptionists scribbling on ledgers or dealing with grumbling adventurers, she was a beacon of crimson hair and sharp competence. She was in the middle of explaining a quest's fine print to a hulking beastkin, her expression one of patient exasperation. She saw us approaching, and her eyes met mine over the beastkin's furry shoulder. A lightning-quick sequence flashed in her green eyes: surprise, recognition, professional masking, and then a spark of something warmer, more personal.
Freya reached the counter first. "Receptionist Gwen. We are expected by Guild Master Valerius."
"Of course, Dame Mikaelson," Gwen said, her tone flawlessly professional. She finished with the beastkin ("…which means if the basilisk eats you, your beneficiary gets half, not full. Sign here.") and turned her full attention to us. Her gaze swept over me, taking in my dust-stained, Grinder-weary state. "Kaizen. You look… industrious."
"Just a day of advanced horticulture," I said, leaning an elbow on the counter, slipping into our easy, flirty rhythm. "You know, moving earth, communing with stones. The usual. You, on the other hand, look like you've been successfully repelling boarders all day. Any exciting scrollwork?"
A small, genuine smile touched her lips. "The usual tide of illiterates and optimists. I did have one fellow try to convince me a 'mildly annoyed badger' counted as a 'magic beast' for a hunting quest. The negotiations were… spirited."
"I hope you held the line. The sanctity of quest classification is all that stands between us and chaos."
"I defended it with my life," she said, her eyes dancing. "Though I might have a new scar. Paper cut. Upper left quadrant. Very savage."
Freya cleared her throat. The sound was like a slate being cracked over a knee. "The Guild Master is waiting."
The warmth in Gwen's eyes cooled back to professional neutrality, but not before she shot me a look that plainly said, Be careful, you idiot.
"Right through there, Dame Mikaelson," Gwen said, gesturing to the reinforced door behind the counter marked 'GUILD PERSONNEL ONLY'. "Fourth floor. The Master's anteroom."
"Thank you," Freya said, her voice tight. She shot me a glare that could freeze boiling water. "Are you quite finished?"
"Just catching up on vital guild gossip," I said, pushing off the counter. I gave Gwen a final nod. "Hold the fort."
"Try not to need bailing out of a dungeon," she replied softly.
Then Freya was moving, and I was following, through the door and into the hushed, administrative belly of the guild. The noise of the common area vanished, replaced by the muffled sound of our footsteps on stone stairs as we began the climb. Four flights. With each floor, the air seemed to grow heavier, more still. The décor shifted from functional wood and stone to richer materials, polished dark wood paneling, thick carpets, tasteful (and probably magically protected) tapestries depicting guild history.
"You and the receptionist seem… familiar," Freya said abruptly on the third landing, her voice echoing slightly in the stairwell.
"Gwen's a friend," I said, keeping it simple. "She has a good sense of humor. Rare in this place."
"Hm." The sound was non-committal, but laden with unspoken judgment. "It is unwise to mix personal affairs with guild business."
"Noted. Next time I'm summoned by the highest authority in the city, I'll make sure to break up with any friends first."
She didn't dignify that with a response.
We reached a heavy oak door on the fourth floor. Freya didn't knock. She took a breath, straightened her shoulders to an even more impossibly perfect military bearing, and pushed it open.
The room was an anteroom, spacious and opulent. A thick rug swallowed sound. Portraits of severe-looking past Guild Masters lined the walls. And in the center of it, waiting like particularly unpleasant pieces of furniture, were the twins.
Neralia and Lashley.
They were dressed in what I assumed was formal attire for their station, rich fabrics, subtle embroidery, everything tailored to scream 'old money and mild disgust'. They turned as one, their faces settling into identical masks of contemptuous surprise.
"You," Lashley said, the word a sneer.
"The gutter has arrived," Neralia sighed, as if my very presence was a personal affront to her nostrils.
"Charmed as always," I said, offering them a bright, empty smile. "Did you two get lost on the way to the mirror-gazing championship?"
Before Lashley could sputter a retort, another figure shifted from where he'd been gazing out a tall window. The City Lord. He was even more imposing up close, a mountain of a man who looked like he could bench-press a wagon. His face was a roadmap of old scars and stern authority, his gaze the kind that settled on you like a physical weight. He assessed me in one quick, comprehensive glance, his expression giving nothing away.
And then I saw her.
Seated gracefully in a high-backed chair near the City Lord was a woman who seemed to have stepped out of a painting of aristocratic perfection. She had hair the color of spun moonlight, cascading in artful waves over one shoulder. Her features were breathtakingly delicate yet regal, high cheekbones, a perfectly sculpted mouth, eyes the color of a summer sky. The dress she wore was a masterpiece of dark blue silk, cut in a way that was both modest and devastatingly alluring, the neckline hinting at a cleavage that was… mathematically impressive. Her skin looked like polished porcelain, flawless and smooth.
I stopped. Just for a second. The sheer, concentrated beauty of her was a physical shock in a room full of tension and hostility. It was disorienting, like seeing a sunrise in a dungeon.
Focus, idiot. Freya's voice was a hissed whisper in my ear a fraction of a second before her armored elbow dug with precise, painful force into my side.
I stumbled forward with a grunt, breaking my gaze and nearly tripping on the edge of the luxurious rug. The spell was broken, replaced by a sharp ache in my ribs and a flush of heat in my face.
The beautiful woman's lips quirked in the faintest, most knowing of smiles. The City Lord's stern expression didn't change, but I saw a flicker in his eyes. Amusement? Annoyance? Impossible to tell.
"My lords, my lady," Freya said, her voice ringing with formal clarity, utterly ignoring my stumble. "As summoned: Adventurer Kaizen."
She then began introductions, her tone crisp and impersonal. "Adventurer, you know City Lord Boromir." The mountain of a man gave a single, slow nod. "His children, Lashley and Neralia." The twins didn't nod; they just continued to stare. "And this is Her Grace, the Duchess Helena of Korka, recently arrived in Torak."
The Duchess. The Princess in disguise. The political storm cloud. Up close, the title made sense. She carried an aura of effortless authority that had nothing to do with muscles and everything to do with centuries of refined breeding and power. Her sky-blue eyes met mine, and there was an intelligence there, sharp and assessing, that cut right through the initial dazzle of her appearance.
"And this," Freya concluded, turning towards the inner door which now opened silently, "is Guild Master Valerius."
The man who stepped out was the perfect fusion of Erik and the City Lord. He had Erik's height and leanness, stretched over a frame that held the City Lord's latent, powerful build. He was older, his hair steel-grey and cropped short, his face lean and sharp like a hawk's, but his shoulders were broad, his hands looked capable of strangling a bear or penning a delicate treaty with equal ease. He wore simple, dark robes of office, but they couldn't conceal the sense of immense, controlled power he radiated. This was not just an administrator. This was a warrior-statesman.
His eyes, a pale, piercing grey, swept the room and settled on me. They held no hostility, no warmth. Only the absolute, daunting focus of a master craftsman examining a new and potentially flawed tool.
"Adventurer Kaizen," he said. His voice was quiet, yet it filled the room effortlessly, a low rumble of distant thunder. "Thank you for coming. We have matters to discuss regarding the disturbance at the Serpent's Coil. Please, join us."
He gestured toward the open door to his inner sanctum. The City Lord moved to follow. The Duchess rose with liquid grace. The twins fell in behind them, casting final, scornful looks my way.
Freya gave me a slight, insistent nod.
The time for glibness, for flirting, for awkward walks, was over. I was in the deep end now, and the water was full of sharks, political vipers, and one stunningly beautiful duchess who was probably the most dangerous of them all.
I took a breath, ignored the lingering ache in my side from Freya's elbow, and followed Guild Master Valerius into the heart of power.