For the first time since coming to this fantasy world, Jasson couldn't sleep. The bed was soft and the day long, yet nothing could stop his mind from reliving it.
He'd woken up in the Wet Rat in, gone to the guild, gotten ambushed by Lingo, then eaten by a slime. Dockson had saved his life. Jasson had run from an army of lizard men. Been yeeted through the air, dodged a minotaur, and fought an evil monster master. He'd crisped up one or two dozen weeping angels, survived being nearly dissolved by a Basilisk, and then got whipped around like a dog toy. Then he'd shot the Basilisk in the eye, watched Grog kill it, then confronted the monster master a final time before the man got away.
Dockson was dead.
Jasson couldn't leave it alone. It was like red welt of an infected scab that Jasson couldn't stop picking at. Dockson had saved his life, and then Jasson had done nothing for him.
Jasson needed to rest. He needed a bath. He needed to go to sleep then wake up and get so much done. He needed to dig out the basilisk and the weeping angels for their Crystals so he could buy the app. He needed to figure out what was going on in the capital. He needed to help with Reflection Manor. He needed to follow up on Petra and Clara's home. He needed to check in on Petra and Clara and see if they were okay.
And, most of all, he needed to get up.
It was morning.
****
Morning was a time for Petra to soak in her success.
They had provided Petra with a mana crystal infused bath. A private bath. Petra was not one for luxuries, but this? This was her exception. A tub molded from Flux. The dust of lesser mana crystals ground to a fine power. Fine Eastern bathing salts for extra relaxation.
It wasn't as rejuvenating as that mountain spring back in Smill, but that giant fire ape had reminded her of why she liked private baths. She could sleep.
After a nap, Petra emerged from the bath wrinkly but invigorated. Her headache was practically gone, and that world-twisting sensation in her gut wouldn't be coming back for a while. She could finally go home and finish the construction.
Petra dried and dressed in the room she'd been given. Morning broke through Flux windows and cast faint rainbows across the Eastern rug. Petra combed her hair briefly with her fingers, then paused. She was official now. She was Patricia again. Her grooming standards had been forgiven after the battle, but the banquet would be tonight. She'd be meeting the Butcher and dozens of other figures. Even if she got dressed before then, she might run into them in the castle.
She had to be ready.
But life didn't wait for you to be ready.
Knock-knock-knock
"Who is it?" Petra said, clutching her towel.
"Myself," The Duchess's voice said, "I would not impose but I have to meet with the Tast'er delegates in half an hour."
With a flurry of movement, Petra threw on one of the many dresses the Duchess had loaned her and answered the door, hoping that her finger combed hair would be enough.
"I trust that I did not wake you." Duchess Primrose said, "Would you accompany me?"
Petra looked around and said, "Why just me?"
"Because you are the leader," The Duchess said, "And because leaders should speak in private."
Petra nodded and shuffled into slippers, then followed the Duchess out. This plainly couldn't wait. The Duchess had come personally.
They made their way down the hall, then deeper into the castle. A door, unassuming and relatively weak, lay at the end of a corridor. The duchess opened it and motioned them in. The perfect place for Petra to disappear in.
Petra took a breath and entered.
Many things were spoken of. Many more alluded to. The space of things not spoken was the infinitely-larger circle around the area of discussion. But most telling of all was the silence.
The silence after Petra's explanation of what happened the night their house was destroyed.
The silence after the Duchess explained the nature of the Broken Dungeon.
And the longest, most pregnant pause, was after Petra opened her locker.
"Now, in writing if you would," Petra pulled out a stack of paper, "I have several alliance contracts written up."
"Oh?" The duchess said, "When did- ah. The journey back from Smill."
"Yes," Petra said, shrinking slightly at the accuracy, "I can make amendments, of course."
"Of course," The Duchess said, taking the documents and said, "Allow me a moment to work through this."
The duchess sat in the air beside the table, setting the papers out and flipping through them strategically. Petra took her own seat and tried to pay attention to the room.
There was nothing there, barely three chairs and a table. The stark absence was… reassuring. Nowhere for things to hide.
The Duchess's expression grew concerned, and she proceeded to the next document as Petra fiddled. A nervous tick that her tutors had never quite trained out of her, now invigorated after months of neglected discipling. Before one of the most influential people in the kingdom. Her tutors were rolling in their graves.
Eventually, the Duchess said, "I would be remiss to bring up details before finishing the final option. Yet I must ask: what is this 'percentage of trade in certain volatile assets bearing heightened liability concerns'?"
"A treasure, basically," Petra tried not to blush. Maybe her tutors would be proud of the contracts at least, "Something that would require some effort to retrieve and protect."
"The Goldenshield treasure?" the Duchess said, "So the rumors were true. It will take us some time to mount a conquering force. Unless it's not held within the fortress?"
Petra bristled, then forced herself to calm and said, "No, I have a new treasure. Well, not truly mine. But the finder of which has joined my cause."
The Duchess said, "Of what kind?"
Petra reached into her locker and felt the bags. The careful preparation she'd made. Each one filled with a different key of power.
She didn't want to reveal everything. She practically had a deal already. Petra paused, fingering the bag containing only impressive fire crystals.
Fire to secure an alliance of industry, Petra thought.
It would be more than enough but…
"One of the documents there," A calm stole over Petra, "It asks for…a bit much."
"Secrecy," The Duchess said, flipping to the precise page, "It was plainly written as if you yourselves hadn't walked out onto the ballroom declaring yourself."
"Did you read the whole thing?" Petra said.
"No," The duchess flipped back to it and scanned quickly, then raised her eyebrows, "Secret trades? Possibly…what? Stolen? You're asking me to fence goods? ME?!"
The Duchess stood, scattering papers as her accent thickened, towering above Petra. Petra flinched, and forced herself to stop fiddling. To meet the woman's eyes.
"Not stolen," Petra grabbed a different bag, "But if I amend the secrecy about us to more…logical levels. Would you be able to uphold the distribution obfuscation? Can you hide the sale from everyone else in the world?"
The Duchess sucked through her teeth. The castle seemed to groan as the roots shifted with anxiety.
The Duchess, stoic as a tree, sat before the table and said, "Me? The Duchess of Stalt? Bride of the Butcher Baron? The wife of justice? I know exactly what is spoken about me. I know my reputation to the last jot."
Then the Duchess cracked a smile, a human sliver of raw pride, "Only the gods themselves will know."
Petra nearly sagged in relief as the Duchess said, "Now, what do you have in mind that is worth this possible soot on my gown? To even suggest it… you would have gotten farther without such recklessness. Are you worth it?"
"I wouldn't know." Petra pulled the bag out and tossed it onto the table between them, "Decide for yourself."
The bag landed with a clatter. The careful knot fell loose and crystals tumbled across the table. Small as a thumbnail, large as a hand. Some lay flat, some rolled. A field of pink implications, like renaissance art. One landed in the Duchess's lap.
In silence, the Duchess held up the healing crystal. It glinted, casting a valentine chapel of stained light across her face.
A silence of the third kind consumed the room. It went beyond the silence of shock, calculations, and shock again. It was the silence of the future. For the future is the quietest of all times.
That way it can always sneak up on you.
****
It is said that it started there. On the border of the unyielding war with the Broken Dungeon. In the rock that breaks armies, under the strongest duke to ever rule the lands of Stalt.
The decades to come had one conclusion. In this land, these people, at that moment…
Were to blame.