Asha's reply was immediate, firm, and without a hint of surprise. "Yes, Callie. It is true."
Callie's tail swished once, a nervous habit. "Should I... should I notify her other two daughters? The ones studying at the Dracoris School of Law in Petaorin?"
"No," Asha's voice was clear, decisive. "That won't be necessary. Princess June is already taking care of it."
"This is momentous news, Your Majesty," Callie said, her voice filled with an almost uncharacteristic urgency that ruffled the usual calm of her chambers. "Shall I tell the embassy of Her Highness's return?" The words felt inadequate to describe the shifting tides of power and presence that Savine's reappearance implied.
"Not yet," Asha replied, her tone softer than usual, a deep purr that seemed to carry the quiet wisdom of centuries. "Savine would like to reacclimate to being home a bit longer. The burdens of her station will descend soon enough; let her find her footing in this familiar place once more."
Callie's ears flattened slightly, sensing the subtle current beneath Asha's words. "There's more, Your Majesty. Troubling news, a grim tapestry woven from dispatches arriving daily from other countries." Her emerald eyes, usually keen and calculating, flickered with a raw concern that belied her composed demeanor. "A pattern of escalating violence, a sickening distrust festering among rural villages, far from the grand cities and watchful eyes of the courts. It seems… manufactured, Your Majesty. A deliberate sowing of discord, leading to a stark rise in murders, senseless and brutal." She paused, the scratching of her quill suddenly a distant memory, replaced by the chilling whisper of her report. "And it's heading toward the coast, a creeping tide of malice, inevitably drawing closer to Nan Du Tua's shores." Callie took a breath, steeling herself. "Would you consider deploying your personal guard, the Silent, to investigate? Their very nature, their quiet expertise, makes them uniquely suited to keep a low profile in other domains, to uncover the roots of this blight without stirring further panic."
A moment of profound silence stretched between them, a weighty pause that spoke volumes. The distant hum of Nan Du Tua seemed to falter, and even the air in Callie's chamber felt heavy. Then, Asha's deep voice, no longer soft, but edged with a quiet, undeniable trepidation, filled the communication box again. "Yes, Callie. Deploy them at once. This news... it concerns me deeply. Far more than I care to admit."
The scent of old parchment and brewing tea hung heavy in Callie's chambers, a familiar comfort in the heart of Petaorin's bustling diplomatic quarter. As a Catkin Magistrate for Nan Du Tua, her days were typically a predictable rhythm of treaties, trade disputes, and the occasional diplomatic gala. So when a sharp, insistent rap echoed through her door, it immediately piqued her curiosity. Few dared disturb a magistrate at this hour without good cause.
Callie rose from her desk, her movements fluid and silent, her tail twitching with mild annoyance. She pulled open the heavy oak door, and her amber eyes widened in genuine surprise. Standing before her, framed by the softly lit corridor, was an orc. Not just any orc, but one clearly of rank, judging by the intricate, dark leather armor and the polished bronze emblem of the Shoganate of Ironclad pinned to his chest.
Ironclad maintained a consulate in Petaorin, as did most nations of Lore, but their strict neutrality meant their presence was usually more symbolic than active. They rarely, if ever, called on other embassies.
"Can I help you?" Callie asked, her voice calm despite her internal flutter of surprise.
The orc dipped his head in a surprisingly formal bow. His tusks, though prominent, were well-groomed, and his expression was solemn, almost weary. "Magistrate Callie, I presume? My apologies for the intrusion. I am Hinsmith, a magistrate of the Shoganate of Ironclad."
"Magistrate Hinsmith," Callie acknowledged, a flicker of apprehension joining her surprise. This was truly unprecedented. "To what do I owe this... unexpected visit?"
Hinsmith's gaze was direct, meeting her own without flinching. "The Shoganate has made a decision, Magistrate, one of considerable import. Our coffers, as you may be aware, have dwindled. To that end, we have resolved to offer the services of our military—our legions—to the other nations of Lore. We wish to hire them out."
Callie blinked. The Ironclad legions were legendary for their discipline and ferocity. This was a monumental shift in policy. "And you've come to me to announce this?"
"Precisely," Hinsmith confirmed. "We seek an audience with Queen Asha of Nan Du Tua. We wish to discuss a formal trade agreement, outlining the terms of such an arrangement."
The implications of Hinsmith's words settled over Callie like a sudden chill. The highly neutral, self-sufficient Ironclad now sought to become a mercenary force? And they wanted Nan Du Tua as their first, or at least a very early, client. This wasn't just unexpected; it was a potential game-changer for the balance of power in Lore.
"Magistrate Hinsmith, I will contact Queen Asha post haste," Callie stated, her mind already racing with the implications of his visit. "However, I must apologize for the formality, but I have strict protocols to follow. My secretary will be in touch with your consulate to arrange an appointment for tomorrow morning."
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Hinsmith nodded, his expression unchanging. "I understand completely, Magistrate. Please, do what is necessary. The brevity of this meeting is, in fact, an unexpected boon. I have an appointment at the Wolfkin Consulate in a short time."
With another formal bow, the orc magistrate turned and departed, his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor before fading into the distant sounds of the diplomatic quarter.
The moment Hinsmith was out of sight, Callie wasted no time. She moved to her desk, her hand hovering over the communication box—an ornate, polished oak contraption that hummed faintly with latent magical energy. This was her direct link to the queen. Taking a deep breath, Callie tapped the surface.
A moment of static, then Queen Asha's calm, familiar voice filled the chamber. "Callie? Is everything in order?"
"Asha, no, not exactly," Callie began, her voice betraying a hint of urgency. "I just had a most unexpected visitor. Magistrate Hinsmith from the Shoganate of Ironclad." She quickly relayed the details of Hinsmith's proposition, the dwindling coffers, and their desire to hire out their legions, concluding with his request for a trade agreement meeting.
A profound silence stretched between them, lasting for what felt like an eternity. Callie waited, her heart thrumming, wondering how the queen would react to such a seismic shift in Ironclad's policy.
Finally, Asha's voice returned, still quiet, but with an underlying current of resolve. "Callie," she said, "I will use the teleportation gates. I'll be there to meet the orc in the morning."
Here's the revised scene with that detail integrated:
Errin stretched, her bat-like wings rustling softly as she pushed away the silk sheets. The spot beside her was empty, the sheets cool where Nott should have been. A familiar flicker of concern sparked in her chest. Nott, her wolfkin wife, wasn't one to leave their bed at this hour unless something was truly amiss.
Then, she heard it—a faint, rhythmic scraping sound, like shovel against earth, drifting in from outside. It wasn't the usual early morning sounds of the market coming alive. This was something else entirely.
Pulling on a light robe, Errin padded silently through their cozy home. As she neared the back door, she saw Stransa, her form seeming to shimmer with faint shadow, a primordial presence watching from the doorway. Stransa turned to her, her eyes wide with a deeper, ancient curiosity. "Errin, Nott's... digging."
Errin pushed the door open to the crisp pre-dawn air. In the dim light, she could just make out Nott, a whirlwind of focused energy, wielding a shovel with surprising ferocity. Dirt flew in arcs around her as she dug, clearly, the foundation for a new room.
"Nott?" Errin called out, her voice a soft question.
Nott froze, then slowly looked up, her face streaked with dirt, her breath misting in the cool air. Her usually fierce wolf eyes held a lingering shadow of distress. Her hands moved swiftly, forming signs. "Errin," she signed, then continued, "I... I had a nightmare. Couldn't go back to sleep. So I decided to build a room."
Errin stared at the burgeoning trench. "At this hour? Nott, do you even know how to build a room?"
Nott leaned on her shovel, her gaze distant for a moment. Her hands signed again, the movements deliberate. "I have a sister, Errin," she conveyed, her voice in the signs softer now, almost vulnerable. "I have blood again, and she will need a place to sleep."
Errin sighed, the implications of Nott's words settling over her. Her sister, presumed lost to them for so long, now a reality. "I understand that, love, truly. But we have the coin to hire a builder. The bar has done well."
Nott met her gaze then, and Errin saw the familiar stubborn set to her jaw, the barely perceptible tightening around her eyes. Nott's hands signed a clear, resolute statement, the gestures firm. It was the look Errin had come to know well—the one that meant Nott didn't want anyone from Varashroova near their home. They lived in the woods on the outskirts of the city for a reason. No strangers, no potential complications. Not with family returning from the shadows.
"Don't give me that look, Nott," Errin said, stepping closer to her wife, her voice soft but firm. "Building a room isn't as simple as chopping wood. Doing it wrong could be dangerous. Torrin could get hurt."
Nott sighed, the motion visible even as her hands began to sign. "I know," she conveyed, her movements slow, heavy with frustration. "But I can't stand the way the people in town look at me. The fear and distrust."
"Then how about this?" Errin proposed, a new idea forming. "You take a trip to see Asha and the girls. It's been a long time since you've been to Nan Du Tua, and you can return when the room is done."
Nott's hands paused, considering. "It's a good idea," she signed, a flicker of interest in her eyes, then quickly fading. "But I hate the idea of leaving Torrin after we've only just met."
"Take her with you," Errin said immediately, a warm smile gracing her lips. "Asha and the triplets would love to meet their new aunt."
Nott's face softened, a genuine smile finally touching her lips as her hands swiftly signed, "Yes. That sounds good."
"Good," Errin replied, relief washing over her. She extended a hand. "Now, come back to bed. You can finish digging later."
As Nott put down her shovel and took Errin's hand, Stransa, still watching from the doorway, tilted her head. "Maybe you should have been a diplomat over a bard, Errin," she mused, her voice a low, shadowed whisper.
The shimmering distortion of the teleportation gate at the docks hummed, casting an ethereal glow on the worn cobblestones. June, one of Queen Savine's triplets, paced with an impatience that belied her usual composure, her gaze fixed on the rippling air. She had sent word to her sisters as soon as she received the unbelievable news: their mother, Queen Savine the First, who had vanished without a trace three years prior, was returning.
Finally, the distortion solidified, and two figures stumbled through. Kyra, with her perpetually serious expression and long, dark hair, immediately heaved, clutching her stomach. The tell-tale green pallor of teleportation sickness was stark on her face. Melody, ever the more grounded and pragmatic of the two, with her sharp auburn bob, steadied her twin.
Melody's eyes, usually bright, were clouded with a mixture of disbelief and guarded hope. She turned to June, her voice low and tight. "June, if this is a joke, it's not funny. Is Mom really back?"
June simply nodded, her eyes wide and unusually serious, reflecting the gravity of the news.