88. Interlude: Lydia

Lydia Archonides Chrysemporos lifted her mug, giving the ale a swirl.  The fruity bouquet wafted from the iridescent liquid.  Any other day, she would have savored the exquisite brew.  Today, she couldn’t help but take an undignified swig. “Now for one last topic.”

Anthea Archonides Rhaptis, legendary [Archmage] with a penchant for masquerading as a humble [Tailor], arched an eyebrow.  “Oh?  There wasn’t anything else on the agenda for today’s meeting.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she played coy.

She set the mug down on the table with a loud thud, grimacing.  This meeting table had endured much worse without obtaining a scratch, but she didn’t need to test it, not with the enchantments active.  She already had to tweak them after her last loss of control.

“Of course there wasn’t.  How could I have predicted the moves of low-tiered Human—who, by the way, is going to be the death of me?”

Anthea brought a hand to her mouth.  “The great and powerful head of  *** brought low by a tier I Human?”

“Don’t play dumb, Anthea.  You know what I mean.”

Anthea leaned forward, eyes glinting.  “I buried people for saying far less.”

Lydia sat unfazed.  There was no heat in those words.  “I’m not kidding.  He is a spark we don’t need.”

Anthea made a slight pout.  “You are not fun.”  Then she leaned back in her chair, a slight smirk spread over her face.  “But really, is a mere Tier I causing you such troubles? And here I thought you were capable of acting as the Quartermaster for this expedition.”

Lydia bit back a sharp retort, opting instead for another long drag of her mead. No matter how much she drank, it wouldn’t be strong enough, but then again, few drinks were when it came to dealing with this old crone.  "I know you've taken a shine to him after he helped you gain a level…or two?” Anthea’s smirk widened into a full smile before she had the audacity to shrug.  Lydia struggled to keep the exasperation out of her voice.  "We both damn well know he's more than just a simple Tier I—or should I say, Tier II. The boy's got the gods' own luck."

The Expedition’s quartermaster waited as her aunt by marriage took a long, appreciative sip of her wine—wine she brought to this meeting to make specific points.  Even from across the table, she could make out the density of aether the wine exuded.  Lydia knew for a fact that a master [Vintners] had cultivated those grapes at the edges of the Wilds, infused them with Aether, and aged them in enchanted, grade V barrels.  Each of the many barrels of wine she brought had a greater draw than its weight in high-grade Aether crystals.  She was far above her allotment for this expedition, and she knew very well that no one would dare to mention that.

“The God’s own luck,” Anthea murmured. “I’ll give you that.  However, you can't argue that he's been helpful.”

Anthea brought the glass to her lips, then thought better of it.  She swirled the wine in her goblet, watching the iridescence streaks flicker in burgundy liquid.

The Quartermaster snorted.  “Are we talking about the same person?”

Her aunt didn’t reply.  She just tilted the wine glass, inspecting the veins of blues, purples, and reds that spread upward from the long, feathered stem, a mark of craftsmanship in itself.  Then the colorful veins inlaid in the glass pulsed.  The glass frosted as its temperature dropped.

Lydia hid her frustration by taking a long sip of her mead.  As always, the blasted crone had to layer messages inside messages instead of just saying it.  She may not thrive like her sister in the clan politics, but she wasn’t daft.  She also didn’t need to see the subtle hint of a green tint further hinted at the glass’s nature: Aetherglass.

Lydia put her mead down and let out a long breath.  “Are we really doing this?  We cannot be any further from home.”

Anthea just tapped the edge of the glass, and the quiet ting lingered in the air.

Lydia rolled her eyes.  “That is such a lovely wine glass.”

Understatement of the day.  The glass she so casually sipped would beggar some nobles.  Those who didn’t would kill to have one.

“Why, thank you.  I just had it imported.”

The concept of Atherglass wasn’t new.  Oresian craftsmen produced it in the past, but to her understanding, the variances in the Aether crystals and sand made the quality too unpredictable.  Unlike the Humans, Oresian [Glassmakers] struggled to create crystal-clear glass.  Craftsmen could manage one complication, but two?  It relegated Aetherglass to nothing more than a curiosity—at least, so they had thought.

The Human [Glassmakers] had cracked the secret to consistent, high-quality Aetherglass, a feat her own clans still struggled with despite years of pilfered secrets. That innovation had increased already brisk trade between the Human kingdom and the Oresian clans.  Terrible for the Oresian [Glassmakers], but profitable for the clan that spearheaded trade with the Human kingdom.  And now her dear aunt swirled evidence of the Human’s ingenuity by the characteristic green-tinged glass stem to remind her of how much Humans brought to the table—not that she needed it.  She had pushed her clan to deepen ties with the Humans when no one else dared.

“I am glad to see you enjoyed the fruits of my negotiations.”

Anthea took another sip.  “For that, I am thankful.  It has allowed for so many wonderful things.”

Yet, the crone just glossed over the trade-offs—and there were always trade-offs.  Just like the one in camp, Humans brought their share of problems.  Their relationship with the Ættir had soured as their trade with the Humans increased.  The volume of trade with the Ættir may be lower than with the Humans, but the Ættir had access to unique high-grade materials.

“Unfortunately, my dear aunt, I don’t see our lone representative doing the same.”

The woman frowned.  “Are you so sure?”

"If you're talking about Dorian, sure, he's out of his ’funk,’ but he’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

Anthea waved a dismissive hand. "Come now.  That goes a bit too far.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed.   As a ”[Tailor],” it was so easy to dismiss the delicate balancing act.  To do her work, she didn't have to keep two acrimonious factions from tearing each other apart.  It would be easier for the Human to just have an accident.

As if reading her thoughts, the old crone snapped, “Don't you dare think of making him disappear. He's been good for Dorian. You know how tough he's had it.  And even he, naive as he is for his age, would uncover any…interventions made.  When he does, do you think the boy wouldn’t run to his mother, not after the relationship he had built with the young Human?  You are already on unstable ground with your sister.”

The Quartermaster scowled. "Don't remind me. And I also know that you are here for more than watching over your favorite grandson.”  She took a large sip of her drink.  “I shouldn’t have had to do anything. That Human should be dead already.  First, he survives Aether toxicity; then, the abuse from the Volki; and finally, the battles with the Ættir.  And instead of ending up in an ‘accident,’ he's managed to become respected…by the Ættir? A Human?"  She shook her head in disbelief. “A friendship with Dorian couldn’t have done that.”

“I don’t disagree.”

“The Human is clueless about the basics, but then acts with a maturity that belies his age.  I don’t know what his house was thinking by withholding the training needed to increase his levels, but they sure made up for it in terms of statecraft.  Still, it doesn’t make sense.  Why would someone that young be out on his own anyway?”

“He shouldn’t, and I don’t think he was.  Something happened, and like you said, he got very, very lucky.”

Lydia just shook her head.  “He just had to fall into my lap.  What I don’t need right now is a pampered Human noble.  Which is why I need to know, are there any other surprises I need to know about?”

“He is a mystery, but there is more to him than a noble brat.”

“How much more?”

An “innocent” smile played across the old [Tailor]’s lips. “I tend to forget things in my old age—”

“Don’t you dare.  You’re as sharp as ever.  Is it because of his Potentials?  I had an inkling that he’s talented, and Dorian more or less confirmed it.”

“You could say that.”

“I don’t have time for games.  What do you know?”

“I might have done a bit of extra testing on the sample he provided for his enchantments…”

“And?”

She shrugged and took a long sip of her wine.

“Tell me!”

“No.  He deserves a bit of privacy.  However, I will tell you this. It would be to our benefit if he came to think of us as friends.”

“If he can survive.”

“I am sorry, did I not make myself clear?  You are going to make sure he comes out of things okay.”

Lydia slapped the table with both hands, causing the mead to splash from her mug. "What are you talking about. That is a big ask.  I have only so much control.”

“I know you have limits. I also know that you can make things happen. He has done enough to earn a favor from me, even more so for what he's done for Dorian.  You’ll make sure he comes out okay for as long as he is here.”

“You don't know what you ask. The Alfa always extracts a price.”

“Girl, I've been doing this since you were still being swaddled.  Of course, I know what I am asking.  Just as I know what’s in your power.  I even made your life easier.  Do you think that poor boy endured all those beatings without asking for help because he enjoyed it?”

The Quartermaster frowned.  “Just how bad was it?”

“Let’s just say that my dear grandson had every right to yell at his avinja, and I doubt he knew the half of it.”  She took another sip of the drink.  “The Sæmdarskati has eliminated the hardest part by wiping away his debt.”  She tapped the table with a bony finger.  “He is under the protection of the Ættir.  Hold the line when it comes to the rules.”

“And if I don’t.”

Anthea's expression became deadly serious. The pressure in the room increased, and the air crackled with energy. Even at her level, Lydia had no chance of pushing back the [Archmage]’s aura. “As you so delicately reminded me, there was more than one reason I came on this expedition. "

Quartermaster stared at the elder mage.  One did not trifle with a woman of her tier.  It would cause chaos at home—though that wouldn’t happen.  She had a better chance of finding a grade V crystal in a Tier 1 area than defeating the old crone.  No, easier to bend to her vagaries.  The [Archmage] would make it worth her while, and she needed all the goodwill with her sister that she could get.  Even if this expedition succeeded, many—her sister one of them—would still view her association with the Volki with disdain.

Fools.  They would waste an opportunity of a lifetime over a few moral objections.

She would need to lay out a plan to keep the crone happy, but she had a little bit more time to prepare before the Alfa returned.  She didn’t dare hope he would be delayed. They needed the supplies.  The monsters that assailed the wall had increased, and too many of the Volki in the mines were falling sick.

“Fine." She just managed to stifle a sigh when the pressure disappeared.  “I’ll do my best, but no promises.”

“That is all I ask.”