The Ball was going to happen. The Ball was on time. Clara was in a fancy carriage and a fancy dress, and the storm-fresh air sung with excitement.
But with Jasson still missing, it was hard to buy into the magic.
"He's probably at the Mansion," Petra said, "He's fine. He'll have gotten a hotel. Heck, maybe even the Wet Rat Inn. He could have woken up a few hours ago when the storm passed, and we missed him."
Clara nodded and said, "I wish I could check."
"I know," Petra sighed, "And I'm a bit worried about him too, okay? But we have to keep our minds on the ball. Three allied parties, and the Duke. Then we need to announce ourselves. Scott should be here soon so we can finish the Mansion."
Clara nodded and sighed, then took her worry and stuck it in her mind where the bad things go.
She immediately started to bounce, mind filling with an evening of glamor.
"OOOH!" Clara said, "I'm so excited! You look great in that dress as well, Petra."
Petra frowned and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She'd gone with a conservative dress that clung tightly to her legs; a shawl and frills hanging loosely over her shoulders. A cloche hat lay coquettishly across Petra's hair, harkening to a future yet to come.
"It was cheap," Petra said, "An 'experimental sleek dress' which was specifically styled for women with shorter hair. This might have sold well in the capital, but even there the fashion is still…billowy."
Petra rubbed absent-mindedly at her long gloves that ran up past her elbows. It hadn't been part of the outfit, but Petra had insisted. She needed to cover her scars.
Clara looked away from her sister. It was easy to heal oneself with magic. You could always imagine yourself being perfectly healthy. But scars were something else. They were a part of you, the mistakes you'd made.
Still, Clara wished her sister felt beautiful about her arms.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Terribly sorry," A butlery voice called, "But could I implore you to allow me to see your invitations? The line is quite long, and we're trying to speed up the entrance process."
Clara raised an eyebrow. She'd proposed to say something quite like this in order to steal invitations to the ball.
"Only when we're at the gate," Petra said, "I want to make sure our invitations are officially seen."
"I can assure you that I am an official representative," The voice said, "But I understand. Just know that the line is moving quite slowly and, should you not have invitations, you will be removed quite forcefully."
"We understand," Petra said, holding up her invitation so that the man could see, "But I'm not relinquishing our invitations until we reach the gate."
"Very well," the man said, and bustled on.
"Told you that could have worked," Clara said, "We could have stolen invitations by just asking. Like taking candy from a noble."
"Yeah, yeah." Petra sighed, sitting back, "I'm just glad that Harriett was able to get us these at the last minute. It's a load off my shoulders."
Clara nodded. Harriett had swooped in at the last second with these two invitations and then disappeared again, leaving them befuddled with the gifts.
"I've always felt like she was someone important," Clara said, "Then again, she could have just stolen them."
Probably not the best thing to say right now, Clara thought as Petra stiffened, Ah, well. I'm sure we'll be fine.
The carriage clattered on, luxury doing its best on the cobbled roads. Clara twisted where her Locker ring should have been and sighed.
"Weaponless means Lockerless," Petra reminded Clara, "It is rude to attend a party while armed."
"I know!" Clara said, "Still, I miss the feel of it."
"I know the feeling," Petra said, "I wish that I still had my Earth Crystal. It lasted so long! But that's how it is. I could have taken one from the Manor apparatus but… no. I wouldn't have been able to excuse it as a mobility aid."
Petra paused for a moment, then said, "Come on, let's play 'Identify the noble crest' with the other carriages. Just like we used to do."
Clara grinned. Now those were some old memories.
****
Harriett didn't toil. You don't toil on the road to your childhood home. You breeze.
Thousands of trap spells surrounded every surface leading into the castle. Tucked behind gutter pipes, hidden on window ledges, these traps made the castle an impregnable defense to even the lightest of fingers and feet. And heaven help the fool that tried to fly in.
Harriett had a hard time believing that her mother hadn't always been a genius with traps. It had taken Harriett days to find her way out undetected last time, but now she spotted every ensnaring alarm with ease. They hadn't even been moved around, each one right where she'd left it months ago. Before…
Harriett shuddered. The last time, she'd snuck out to go adventuring by climbing down these high walls and tailing a random party. The last time she'd really, genuinely, believed in herself.
These castle walls had been a prison of low expectations and gloves.
Still, it was her home. The home of Calendula, firstborn of the Baron Butcher. Perhaps Reflection Manor would become like a second home to her, but the sight of her castle in the distance would never let her go. She loved her friends but…
It had been weeks. Harriett couldn't help missing her family as she climbed higher. She'd stop by her siblings and give them a scare after she'd finished. Her father would want to hear about how she killed those wyverns. Her mother would enjoy having Harriett safe again.
She'd stop by to see the cook and the washing women, people she'd gotten quite familiar with. Especially the washing women. They had gotten quite good at getting out bloodstains over the years.
But she had a job to do first. The Tast'er house was making a move. They had representatives here, inside of her home. The Peckishire family had stayed out of royal politics so far. They weren't inactive, just not…direct.
Technically, Harriett had been the one to get them involved first. Her mother hadn't brought that up, but it didn't need to be said. It was the least Harriett could do to help out. Plus, it was good to don her full battle gear. It took hours to put on correctly, and the leather chafed under sunlight, but in the cool post-storm air she felt like an assassin in the night.
Behind the fluid figure of Harriett was a flicker. Barely a shadow in the night, it whispered through the air after Harriett, tracing every footstep, leaving no hint behind. Not even a scent.
Harriett caught movement out of the corner of her eye and covertly glanced over. No clinging form, no man willing himself from being noticed. Beyond that, there was not even the flicker of invisibility. In fact, the longer Harriett looked, the more sure she was that there was nothing there. Just the stone of the castle, exactly where it should be.
****
Carriages stretched behind the twins, a river of lights leading to the spring of evening glint. An assemblage of butlers and guards surrounded the twins's rented carriage, and even the driver had left to go for a walk. No amount of swearing could pry the twin's permission from Petra's fingers, to the point that the river of lights behind them had started to steam in frustration.
Petra scrutinized the badge of the highest-ranking guard that would come to investigate the fuss. Petra looked at the guard himself, scraping the man for every ounce of credibility. The guard was a Captain, and a fresh-looking young man. The type with the potential to be captain of the guard for fifty years but, at this moment, was deciding to be rather literal.
She relented, and the crowd sighed as the impasse was breached.
"Let me be clear," The Captain said, holding up the papers, "Invitations for two guests, plus baggage. However, there is no name from who actually invited you. I'm afraid that you'll have to pull aside and let me investigate-"
"Captain," An older guard stepped up from the background, "That's one of the 'Special' invitations. Remember? We told you about these. They're Anonymous, from you know who."
"Calendula?" The Captain said, eyes lighting up as he turned back towards Petra, "The duke's daughter gave you two these invitations? Where is she? Is she doing okay?"
The old guard facepalmed and said, "Sir, there's a reason it's Anonymous. Just let them in and-"
The old guard glanced between the two of them and saluted to the Captain, saying, "Requesting permission to take it from here, sir. No reason to bother yourself with an occurrence like this."
"Understood," The Captain said, "At ease. I will entrust these guests to you. See to it that they are taken care of."
The Captain marched away. The old guard sighed and lifted his helmet to scratch the balding beneath, then turned back to the carriage.
The old guard opened their carriage door and held out a hand as he said, "Sorry about him. He's new. Proper. A good captain, but not used to how we do things around here. Did the young miss give you a password? Perhaps a sign."
"Yeah," Petra frowned, "I was wondering about that. She said to tell any guards that give us trouble to "(*&^% off". Oh, and this."
Petra flipped the guard off, and Clara turned away, blushing.
The old guard lit up and said, "Right this way. We've actually got a special entrance for the friends of- ahem. For the 'anonymous' visitors. Would you like to be announced or…?"
Petra paused. So Harriett was Calendula Peckishire, daughter of the duke? The Baron Butcher's heir. That, or Harriett knew her well.
That was one alliance formed before they'd even arrived at the ball. And the biggest one at that.
"Not yet," Petra said, grinning, "But may we reserve the option for later? Let us mingle first."
"Of course," the old guard said, leading them to the side, "I'll find the proper manservant for you then. Please, wait in here."
The castle of Stalt was a different affair from the royal capital. Austerity beside the baroque beauty of the royal halls. Yet, on the front lines of the war against the Broken Dungeon, there was still glamour. Literal and magical. The royal capital sat low, sprawling with gardens and coaches to take one back and forth. Contrasting it, here in Stalt, everything was tall. A watchtower of a castle, stretching into vigilant heights with ascending architecture and glimmering lights.
Somehow, at that moment of being welcomed in, that dazzling height felt more magical than anything in the royal capital.
Petra shook her head. Tonight was not a night for magic of either kind. It was a night for hints, promises, and going out on a limb praying that it wouldn't be cut off.
"It's good to be back at a ball," Clara said, "Remember last time?"
Petra frowned and said, "Jaque was fawning all over me. I wouldn't call that a good time, not like you and Svarm were having."
"Do not bring him up," Clara's expression soured, "You know that! I'm trying to have a good time tonight, and you have to bring up that Golden Apples piece of s-."
Clara took a steadying breath and Petra said, "Jaque was always simpering to me, then nearly spitting on the servants. And everyone else for that matter."
Clara brightened and said, "You never did know what to do with that kind of attention. I think he was trying to overcome your cold shoulder."
"You can't tell me you liked him," Petra said, "With that whole…eugh. Those Mench nobles have a horrific sense of superiority."
"Most nobles do," Clara shrugged and frowned, "But, yeah. You're right. I hear that the Duchess is from Mance, though, so keep your voice down."
"Ah," Petra chided herself. She'd known that. Why did Clara need to remind her?
"Hey," Clara rubbed Petra on the back, "Relax. We'll be okay. Even if we're found out, we're friends with 'Calendula'. That's worth something."
"More than something," Petra snorted, "But I understand why she goes by Harriett. Still, I wish that she had told us earlier."
"You know her," Clara shrugged, "She probably wanted to make a name for herself or live 'estranged from familial connections.' Oh, look. There's the butler."
He was definitely a butler you could spot from a long way off. Spindly, with a suit that fitted him like folded paper and a mustache trying to make up for a bald head. The old guard walked with the Butler up to them.
"Madams," the old guard said, a rather more formal tone to his voice, "This is Trenador. He will be caring for you for the rest of the evening. He is the…specialist in Anonymous."
The butler, Trenador, bowed deeply and said, "It will be an honor to serve you, miladies. Now, if you would follow me, the ball is about to begin in earnest. Since you do not wish to declare yourselves, now would be the best time to mingle. If you would follow me."
Petra nodded and set off as Trenador walked a careful pace. The butler led them into the castle via a nondescript side door. Inside was a bland room full of storage, with a large wardrobe at the end. The butler produced a key and unlocked the wardrobe, exposing a passageway.
This better not be a trap, Petra thought. Although…this is definitely something Harriett would have.
"Please mind your step," Trenador said, leading them inside, "Just a bit further. And please stand behind the yellow."
The corridor was short and opened slightly into a chamber with a yellow line on the floor. Trenador pressed a Flux panel in the side and a line of Flux lit up briefly. A wooden cage descended from above in a rush of air, then slowly came to rest.
"And this," The butler said as he opened a door in the cage, "Our esteemed guests, is the Anonymous elevator to go up to the ballroom floor."
There's no lock, Petra thought, not that wood would be able to stop Clara.
Petra said, "The ballroom is so high up that it needs an elevator?"
"Yes," Trenador said, "Technically, it's an inner ward or bailey at the top of the castle. It has served as a launching point in war, etcetera. Currently, it has been elegantly appointed. Our Lady has erected a canopy for us, so it would be perfectly dry even if it was still raining. You will enjoy the view from the balustrades. The city at night is a marvelous thing to behold."
Petra couldn't help herself from mentally adding 'from a distance' to the end of that sentence.
Petra lead Clara as the three of them stepped onto the platform. It was a sturdy wooden cage inside of a flux tube that extended above them. The wood looked woven together, as if it had been alive in this shape, and Air crystals glinted between slats. There was a dial on the side, and Petra followed the Flux lines to an apparatus around two purple crystals. A standard elevator, if more plain than the ones in the capital.
"If you would be patient," Trenador said, "The Ball is on the top floor, so this should take a couple of minutes to-"
Petra stumbled as the platform shot up, G -forces slamming her down. She caught herself on the butler's outstretched arm then, abruptly, they stopped. Petra jerked up and nearly crashed into the ceiling, but Trenador caught her and set her down gently. Clara was recovering her footing, and the elevator doors opened with a soft ding.
"I'm terribly sorry about that," Trenador said, straightening his jacket, "Anonymous hasn't had guests over in years, I forgot how fast she liked to set these elevators."
"That sounds like her," Clara said, releasing the now splintered handrails, "Are we here?"
"Yes," Trenador said, opening the door, "Just a small meeting room. I'm afraid that Anonymous didn't let us clean the room often, so it's a bit of a mess."
Inside was what could best be described as the remains of a slumber party for someone who found swords more interesting than dolls. Blankets lay pushed between the couch cushions as dummies hung skewered in a corner. Plates of desiccated meals lay in some corners, while others were occupied by strewn pieces of dark leather armor.
"Oh, sweet dear Cal…nonymous," The butler hurried through, collecting the half-eaten food, "I don't know what the young miss was thinking! She can't order me not to clean this up and then invite guests!"
The plates disappeared into a locker and the butler bowed, "Terribly sorry. Again. You may wait here if you wish, or proceed to the ball."
Trenador motioned to a solid oak door with black iron reinforcements, the type of door that could hold off a dozen soldiers for hours.
"We will be pleased to proceed," Petra said, "but we may return with…people whom we must speak with. So see to it that this room is cleared for us, so we may have private conversations in here. As a favor to her guests."
"Absolutely," The butler lit up, "Simply call upon me if you need anything. I will be tidying this place most thoroughly."
Petra nodded and walked to the door with Clara. On the way, She took a breath and checked herself in one of the full-length mirrors filling the room.
"You look beautiful," Clara said, "We'll be fine. And if we're not, I'll punch them."
"I'm not beautiful," Petra said, "But thank you anyway. You look lovely in that dress. Be sure to get a few dances in. We could always use a few smitten boys."
"Come on, sis," Clara squeezed Petra's arm, "We're twins."
Petra smiled briefly and closed her eyes. It had been over a month since they'd fled home, bombarded by spells and harried by monsters. Clara had nearly lost her leg fighting that man, but she still fought their way through as Petra flew. That night had been cold as Petra used the last of her strength to heal her sister's leg. No one left but each other.
"You're right," Petra squeezed Clara's arm back, "We can handle anything together."
****
Deep beneath the city, two shadows converged in the pitch black of human forgetfulness. One stank of Sewer and wet, the other stank of the Road and incense. The world dripped around them and, if they were very quiet, they could hear the city above.
Road said, "Where did all the Families go?"
Sewer said, "The storm must have disturbed their nests. I know some were washed downstream."
Road said, "Then let's begin."
Sewer said, "But it's not time yet!"
Road said, "We'll have to make do. We're only a couple of days early."
Sewer said, "Most of the forces are still in the city! Only the Butcher is gone."
Road said, "And that's most of the problem dealt with."
Sewer said, "We don't have the main assault ready!"
Road said, "Hatch it early then."
Sewer said, "That's not how that works!"
Road said, "That's your problem, not mine. Use what Home sent you."
The Sewer shadow ran into the tunnels, cursing ignorant managers and lack of corporate foresight. Hadn't he suggested more waterproofing? Wasn't this area known for storms? But noooo. It was a "Feature".
Well, he had the documentation to prove that it wasn't his fault if this all went south.