She adjusted the brass instrument's focus to the terrace below, watching stone drop away in clean vertical lines that made her stomach flutter with vertigo. Twenty-five feet of hard rock waited below, patient as death itself—no gentle slope, no forgiving water to break a fall. The drop was sheer enough that she could see birds nesting in crevices halfway down, their small bodies tucked into shadows where predators couldn't reach. Her grip tightened involuntarily on the coral rail as the height pressed against her consciousness. How strange that the sea's endless chaos had never affected her this way, yet solid stone could make her palms sweat with its unforgiving permanence.
The noble quarter clung to its ledge like elaborate jewelry displayed on dark velvet. Mansions carved from the living rock itself, their facades decorated with centuries of accumulated wealth and ambition. Through her glass, she found the great pillars of Houses Tolviera and Sarenara—their courtyards eerily quiet in the gathering dusk. The matrons would already be at the palace, of course, circling each other in the receiving chambers like sharks scenting blood in the water.
A thrill ran through Aiyara's chest. Tonight's ceremony would be the easy part—smiles and ritual phrases she'd memorized since childhood. The real work would begin afterward, when wine loosened tongues and old grievances surfaced behind painted fans. That was where she belonged, where years of watching her mother's subtle maneuvering would finally prove their worth.
Focusing the lens on Tolviera's marble courtyard first, studying the battlefield where those maneuvers would unfold. Everything gleamed with austere perfection that spoke of wealth so established it needed no ostentation. The stone had been imported from quarries three kingdoms distant, each block carved with mathematical precision. Water fountains—an obscene luxury this far above the harbor—sent up gentle sprays that caught the light like scattered diamonds. House servants moved with military precision through preparations that had been rehearsed until every gesture was flawless—every goblet polished to mirror brightness, every napkin folded to identical angles that could have been measured with calipers.
Focusing the lens on Tolviera's marble courtyard, she studied the battlefield where those maneuvers would unfold. Everything gleamed with austere perfection that spoke of wealth so established it needed no ostentation. The stone had been imported from quarries three kingdoms distant, each block carved with mathematical precision. Water fountains—an obscene luxury this far above the harbor—sent up gentle sprays catching the light like scattered diamonds. House servants moved with military precision through preparations rehearsed until every gesture was flawless—every goblet polished to mirror brightness, every napkin folded to identical angles that could have been measured with calipers.
She could see the house guards at their posts, still as statues in their blue and silver livery, hands resting on sword hilts with the casual readiness of professional soldiers. These weren't mere decorations—Lady Tolviera employed only veterans, men and women who'd survived enough battles to know that real threats rarely announced themselves. Their positioning was perfect, covering all approaches while seeming merely ceremonial.
Sarenara's halls blazed with deliberate contrast—garlands of imported flowers catching light like captured sunsets, their perfume so strong it would mask the smell of sweat and wine as the evening progressed. Musicians visible through open windows tuned instruments for the impromptu performances that would draw younger nobles like honey drew flies. A lutist ran through scales, fingers dancing across strings with the kind of casual mastery that took decades to achieve. Silks in jewel tones draped every surface, the fabrics so fine they seemed to breathe with their own life, rippling in breezes too subtle for coarser materials to catch.
The sight of Tolviera's pristine courtyard brought back the taste of bitter wine and forced smiles. She could still feel her mother's fingers digging into her arm as Lady Tolviera had leaned close last month, voice dripping false concern: "Your Majesty, I do worry about dear Lady Sarenara's constitution. All those late nights entertaining... merchants. Perhaps she should rest more?" The woman's ice-blue eyes had never left Aiyara's face, searching for any reaction that might be useful later.
Her mother had simply smiled—the particular curve of lips that meant someone was about to be politically destroyed. "How thoughtful, Lydia. Though I suspect Sarenara's stamina serves her quite well in her... endeavors."
The verbal blade had found its mark. Within days, every rising merchant family in the city had received invitations to Sarenara's next gathering. Tolviera's oldest allies, somehow, had not. Then came the gifts—Tolviera's magnificent tapestry depicting Masan's naval victory at Coral Pass, hung where every palace visitor would see it first. Sarenara's response had been swift and devastating: a fountain for the public square showing Serella herself rising from the waves, her tentacles embracing ships that bore suspicious resemblance to Tolviera's merchant fleet.
Yet watching their empty courtyards now, Aiyara felt a familiar warmth bloom in her chest. For all their vicious maneuvering, both houses had never forgotten what truly mattered. Every cutting remark was wrapped in genuine service to Masan, every slight disguised as another gift to the realm. Their hatred made them better—sharper, more generous, more devoted to proving their worth to the crown. The brass fittings on nearby balconies caught the dying light, gleaming like approval itself.
Tonight they would circle each other again with the deadly grace of seasoned duelists. Tolviera would offer stability and tradition, her words carefully seasoned with mentions of her grandson's naval commission and her granddaughter's advantageous marriage. Sarenara would counter with innovation and opportunity, her lower neckline and younger allies a deliberate contrast to Tolviera's conservative presentation. And through it all, Masan would grow stronger from their competition, even as the court held its breath to see which would draw first blood.