Chapter 14
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A full four days slipped by after my encounter with Connie.
Whispers that had faded under the shadow of Count Renkels’ influence now burned bright once more.
“Such nerve. I’d have quit and fled to the countryside ages ago.”
“Right? How does she even dare step foot here daily?”
Rina reflected that isolated barbs aimed her way posed no true threat.
“Hey, friendship with Connie hardly proves guilt.”
Yet those supposed words of support pinned the blame squarely on Connie.
Travel to the Duke of Camelot’s lands meant a seven-day loop via the capital’s magic portal.
She sensed the investigations neared their close and urged herself to endure a bit more.
No longer than another week, at worst.
Her fingers curled tight, teeth grazing her lip.
Ignorant echoes of the crowd she could forgive.
Malicious tongues lying in wait, though, demanded reckoning.
Those three scavengers topped her list.
Once cleared, brass knuckles and a few solid hits awaited them.
Missing incisors might teach restraint.
Vengeance honed sharp within her thoughts.
Relief came swiftly enough.
Seven days on, tales spread of Camelot’s noble retainers hauled off in chains.
By dawn’s next light, Connie walked free amid apologies for her wrongful hold.
Rina seeded a tale blending truth with deception: high command’s ploy masked Connie’s brief confinement.
The scavenging trio now bolted at her mere glance.
Even Donovan’s former allies groveled before her and Connie like courtiers to rising stars.
Connie cleared, Donovan snared—a seamless swap of fates.
A minor player, he languished in the palace’s holding cells. Duke’s downfall would seal his end too, strings cut from a fallen master.
No light sentence like Connie’s respite.
Savor fleeting freedom.
Post-verdict, some grim labor pit awaited.
Camelot’s lord faced near-certain conviction; only the camp’s site remained unknown.
As the Emperor swept up even pawns like Donovan, the Duke shed underlings to slink away. Full escape eluded him regardless.
He bowed to charges, curbing the blow.
Word flew of prime holdings seized to reclaim illicit gains, penalties crushing enough to hobble his kin.
Tax dodges woven with graft and theft slashed Camelot’s might overnight.
He ought to cherish his neck intact.
Imperial wrath pressed further.
Gossip solidified into legend: the Emperor summoned him to the grand hall for a swift blade, only reined in by allies invoking his valorous lineage.
One of the realm’s trio of dukes dodged the ax sans hearing.
Finance lost a pillar; the palace tiptoed in dread.
Rina pondered the Emperor’s iron edge emerging stark.
Loyalty earned his grace; opposition, horror—truth held firm.
In this storm, she aligned loosely with him.
Thus, she and Connie strode tall amid the hush.
“Glory to His Majesty the Emperor!”
Connie exalted, spilling open her payout purse for the twenty-first round.
“That much joy from it?”
“Love the sight alone.”
Coins rattled under her shake, eyes shut in bliss.
Rina stifled a laugh at this metallic balm.
Her flaunt targeted past scoffers in equal measure to her delight.
Genuine thrill claimed the rest.
Former sneering folk, scorning her humble roots, now fawned eagerly.
Fortune’s wheel spun sweet.
Workdays thrilled her anew.
Eyes locked with Connie’s; Rina beamed wide.
Purse still jingling toward soreness, Connie plopped down and recalled aloud.
“Wait—Rina, birthday plans?”
“Living it right now.”
Days blurred into speed lately.
“Prime fest since His Majesty’s homecoming—they’re sparing no excess.”
Ever the rumor hound, Connie reeled off highlights.
“Slum handouts, Minos temple rites. Fireworks extravaganza, masked gala too. Skybursts unmatched in decades, they claim. Folklore ties viewing them with a masked stranger to destined romance—provincials swarm the gates.”
Mages conjured pyrotechnics in these times.
War’s eight-year mage drain nixed displays amid holidays.
Peace now fueled morale with spectacle.
“Victory night’s were middling.”
“True! Over three hundred casters this round!”
Fists balled, she dubbed it unmissable.
“Join me?”
Victory’s show had left Rina wanting.
“Perfect. Last-night finale—we’ll own the day.”
Hushed schemes of feasts and frolics traded in stolen breaths. Connie vanished to tackle backlog.
“Gonna grind now. Hands off.”
Rina flicked a casual goodbye.
Full leisure demanded her grind too; festival budgets jammed finance endless.
Hustle right, snag two festival days free of three.
Amusements stretched mortal bounds.
Work swallowed her as revels dawned.
Day two trapped her at desk.
Wrap it today.
Upside: today’s toil bought tomorrow’s blank.
Dusk hit; she clutched potent tea, seeking the rear garden’s air against droop.
Nobles thronged the capital’s masked whirl this eve.
Deserted outer grounds let distant glows pierce from the annex.
Rina mused on the Emperor and saintess’ fabled masked meet at such a night.
Pacing tree-shaded gravel drained her cup.
Refill inside?
Shadows birthed a silhouette then.
Pitch-clad form, streetlamp haze blurring man from shade.
Intruder?
White mask gleamed; she recoiled sharp.
Flight to crowds tempted, yet limbs froze.
He lunged swift as she retreated.
Finale as bystander slain spying a killer in palace bounds.
Gap vanished; arm extended.
Guard-shriek rose in her throat—then palm sealed it.
“Quiet. Only me, Miss Diaz.”
Pause, then supplement.
Ear-whisper clicked: familiar timbre.
Ease trickled in; Everett murmured low.
“Yell, and my night’s ruined.”
Palm peeled free.
Eyes welled; her hiss packed ire, volume leashed by mercy.
Brusque snap followed, tears dashed away—he winced.
“Didn’t gauge the scare.”
Mask grazed under awkward fingers.
“This the culprit?”
Full-face white slipped off late.
Hand raked wild locks.
Winds swept lunar veil; near-full gleam crowned him vivid.
Sinister garb morphed to sleek midnight finery.
