Tungsten
"Tungsten your highness, we have iron but not tungsten." Chrey bellowed for the thousandth time. Marie stared at him placidly. His voice echoed off the high walls, bouncing on the concrete columns that connected to arches twenty feet above.
"As we are aware, Lord." She said, Not trying to hide her irritation. He'd not be so loud in Arron's presence.
"But unless you can conjure new deposits." She should probably stop talking.
"Or better yet fund alloy production plants in your region yourself, we wouldn't have this problem." She was standing.
"And if these weapons. These magnetic rail cannons are so costly, then why use them." she was almost shouting. "We were at war with them for decades with conventional weapons. Before we found those artifacts."
Stop.
"You haven't seen them. Your highness." Lord Commander Chrey bristled in his seat. "I've seen them clear an entire division, five thousand men. We're burning trenches by the day, taking them back the next." He stopped for a minute as if not sure to continue.
"My queen, we are losing." He said. She didn't expect Went's lapdog to sound desperate or Ernest. His bravado was slipping. She wondered if that should scare her.
"Commander." She continued taking a gentler, more regal tone she said. "All tungsten mined is already sent to the Bodmin region, every mine for half a thousand miles. Could we use any other metals in your alloy rods?" She sat back down.
He too took the moment to compose himself.
"Cobalt maybe." He said. "I'm not sure what supplies are like for that I'm afraid, my queen. My knowledge is directed at my work." He really was acting differently, maybe Arron 'spoken' to him recently. She allowed the tiniest smile at that.
"Well? What are our cobalt reserves, does anyone know?"
"Relatively strong, highness. In the area at least" Lord Taylor Marlow chimed in. A younger man wearing a suit coloured in gunmetal. "It's already used in power supply production, more than likely enough in the Bodmin moorlands to the south of Broom's Town." Marie recognised the name immediately, Torrin was just there.
Taylor Lewin was minister of finance now that Marlow was dead. He was also the new Lady Marlow's son.
Another figure head. She thought wondering at Mirranda's plans for the boy. If she can kill a husband what's to stop her manipulating a son.
"Excellent." Marie clapped her hands, put them on her lap.
"That's settled then." Chrey tried to chime in again. "Settled." She said again, stronger. He didn't challenge it again. He got what he wanted. "Is there anything else?"
"The killer." Said lord Malcom of the inner guard. "Another dead and we're still clueless." He was a middle aged man, unaccustomed, seemingly uncomfortable in his officers dress uniform.
"How many years has it been now?" Lady Marcella the exchequer asked. A resplendent woman, wearing a floral dress, pure white lilies embroidered on each side from waist to bust. Ironic flower choice, considering her nightly habits.
"Fifteen." He answered tartly. "We have interviewed every man with a profession relating to knives, medicine, even the church." He exclaimed exasperated. "He's a spectre, like your pet wolf." He wiped sweat from his brow, pretending he hadn't said that last part.
"Why did we abolish drinking in these meetings?" He added to nobody in particular.
"He's clearly not because ghosts aren't real and these men are dead." Lord Laurence of the outer guard spat.
"And he can't be from outside of the walls. He's been around longer than they existed." He was younger than Malcom by a decade, he was also desperate to outshine Malcolm, he wasn't doing badly at it either for all of Malcom's ambitions. Though his brutality was his shortcoming. His pride also, Marie thought. But both her and Arron were guilty of that.
"It's not as if you're any closer." Malcom shot back, eyes molten. "We don't even know if this is the same one from years ago. They're nothing alike. Only similar in brutality."
"We manage our turf, Commander." Laurence hissed, ignoring the attempts at actual discussion. Pride like she thought. He poked a burgundy glove against the Ceramic table, echoing through quartz highlights. Low born accent more apparent than ever. Not that it bothered her, Arron was born low. It only bothered her that he used it as leverage. He was going on about the difficulty of being in his class. Yet he wore gloves that costed more than what most made in a week. Pride indeed.
For the third time that day since Arron left she wished for another drink, for him by her side. She was aware it was midday. And of the irony of her wanting him there.
'Children.' She wanted to say. 'Play time is later.'
"Gentleman." She interrupted. "That's what you are. Act like it!" She bit, tether snapping again.
"Let's not forget drinking was banned because you began a fistfight. What was that over? Guard shifts?"
Laurence began to speak. But a raised hand and a glare was enough to kill his momentum.
Treat them like boys and they listen for a time at least. Till they remember she wasn't their mother at least, only their empress.
They both stood to bow and then apologised, saluted right hand to chest. It was the most insincere thing she'd heard since Arron had last said he was okay.
Marie had another five of these meetings until the day was done, She found it intolerable to keep track of all these people. Every day there was some new argument, nearly always about money and labour, resources.
'We overreached.' They like to say. Naturally, nobody has an answer. They'd rather berate Marie for her great grandfather's actions. Imagine mines dried out because of her weak leadership.
Those two guard commanders were usually near coming to blows now, how they hated being ruled by a woman. They'd rather senseless violence, and senselessness was not in an empress's—or a woman's—nature.
She would remain strong. Such is the order of the Conclave. For Arron's sake also. He couldn't be left alone, the thought of what he'd do left to himself. It scared her.
It was then when he finally deigned to arrive. He'd stumbled from her apartment and seemed to be suffering the worst for last night's fun. He apologised for his tardiness and took his seat at the end corner of the table. He'd changed into another suit, which he straightened upon sitting. This one was black, again, but now with a green tie. She really wished he had a sense for fashion twenty years ago. But she did like it, professionally of course. Friends.
He was filled in and they continued. But he said little, only listened. Nobody looked at him as if ignoring him would cease his existence. They acted like children in front of him. Arron saw them regardless.
They talked of budgets and shipments, of outreach and settlements.
"About the killer." Arron finally said. Killing the conversation. "Have you ever wondered why the tongues and eyes?" He asked. Looking to the guard captains.
Neither of them spoke.
"Maybe research the sites more." Arron recommended snidely.
He pulled a small file from his case and tossed it over to the captains. "I found that in a morning, how the fuck did you miss it." The room became lead, nobody spoke, even Marie.
Laurence grabbed the file looking furious. Opened it and if only for a moment sank. Inside were records of more killings. Two they had missed, in the ghettos naturally. Not local to them though, and once again students.
"It's possible that it may be an immigrant, and we don't even know if it's the same killer." Laurence said, he tossed back the file, leaning back into his chair. Trying to feign confidence. "They're similar, they still have eyes though."
Malcom smirked. Arron waved his hand as if it were obvious.
"What do you major in again? Laurence." Arron persisted. "Since we paid your tuition."
"Only so you could have a foreigner on your card castle council."
"Oh," Arron exclaimed, humour laying traps in his voice point forgotten. "The big words come out now?"
I can't do this. Not today.
"Arron." Marie cut through. He stopped. Apologised.
Not much happened after that. More arguments, more debates. Marie zoned out after an hour, it had been so long since her coronation.
She still couldn't handle it.
She knew she couldn't fall into this mood, no reason to sew discord. That was Arron's job or so he thought.
Marcella and Taylor argued with the guard captains about investigating costs, among other things Marie had nothing to do with.
She was going to make a retreat for a month or two. Ask Arron to come. She couldn't do this and neither could he.
damn the conclave, damn the puppet god.
She couldn't see him kill himself.
No. They couldn't leave, could they?
He was the only one who saw her. She caught herself looking at him, hard features and greying hair, his blue eyes a sort of grey in the dim light. Still seeming young despite the years he showed.
Marcella caught her looking. That'll keep up her rumours for another month.
What Arron and she had was deeper than they could know. He had been her only friend and likewise for most of their lives. He both saved and destroyed her life. She had both saved and forgiven him. Why couldn't he forgive himself?
Upon leaving she met him outside.
***
They walked to the lily garden in the east wing. The only part of the place not made of concrete. But marble, both black and white. Highlighted by silver accents on the edges of the path.
"What was that?" She asked under her breath once they were far enough from the others.
"I'm sorry." He said. Looking at the lily's far too intently. A flower of redemption. "Hangover."
She rolled her eyes. "What are you going to do now?" She asked, not needing to accept the apology. He'd made far too many apologies recently anyway.
"Probably focus on the killer." He said, scratching the back of his head. "Too much going on to have something like that too." She saw the logic.
"Those two are getting along better." She said, meaning the commanders. "They didn't knock one another out today."
Arron nodded like it wasn't news.
"Is that to do with you?" She asked, looking at him as they walked.
He didn't nod but he always made the same expression when she caught him in something. Almost boyish.
"Thank you." She said, meaning it. Though somewhat self conscious.
"Chrey would have understood eventually aswell." Arron affirmed her. "He was about to fold anyway." Her old enforcer tried to smile.
"You're right. It's just a shame his pride would only bend to you." She said, trying to hide the insecurities there.
"We keep monsters at the table to feed bigger monsters." He started saying.
"Then we just kill those monsters anyway." She finished dryly. A now humourless motto of their younger years.
"Wasn't it you last night saying all this to me?" He asked. Went to poke her in the arm but stopped. He knew they weren't really alone, military police liked to think they knew everything. So they did.
they might be the only real improvement Went had made during his time in office. He would never have his own Conclave though, Marie and Arron would never let that happen.
"The killer then. Think this one's new?" She asked, He nodded.
"The killings before were random. Brutal." He said almost to himself. "This one's more." He stopped.
"More." She probed when they'd cleared half the garden in silence.
"Communicative." He finally said. "In an ironic way, like he's a man trying to speak underwater." He continued.
"I can relate in a way, if what you say is true." She admitted.
"And with the way Laurence treats minor infringements. I'm not so surprised this happened." He said, clearly frustrated by the man. Though, Marie noted that he that Arron had assumed the killer was from the outer city.
"What is your problem with the commander?" She asked him, the pair sitting on a shaded bench at the far end of the garden.
"He's cruel. Have you heard much about the outer city?" He asked, knowing it was unlikely. So much was kept from her and she had to keep him at arm's length from time to time. For propriety's sake.
"Why wouldn't he be." Arron continued. "Ours is a holy profession. He knows he's justified." She heard the bitterness in his voice, the guilt. They had empowered, trusted him.
Pride un-becomes us all.
She had worried about the outer city for a time though, as little as she was told many of her staff were from down there. She tried to encourage their honesty but almost anybody fears a title. Marie did too.
"It's Alexander's birthday today." Arron said. Her brother.
"He would have been thirty eight." She said fondly, though the memory still hurt her. Of the night of knives, of the fire. Arron said nothing more of the subject after this. Marie didn't want him to.
She missed Alexander but the mention of his name was a stab in the gut to her. But she probably would of being angrier if Arron hadn't mentioned though.
Arron left shortly after, she had meetings to get to and so did he.
"I'm going to talk to Rebekah. I think I told her not to look into this too much but I doubt she listened." He said.
"Have fun with your wolves." She said jokingly as she left.
"Have fun with your sheep and monsters." He called back, more serious than he meant to sound.
And with that he was gone, then monotony resumed.